


Duty

by wrennette



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, M/M, archiving old words, episode tag: A Burning Dog, in country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe does his best to bring Walt out of his funk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving from LJ. Originally posted 2008.
> 
> Disclaimer: Fictional characters in a fictional situation. HBO and Evan Wright own _Generation Kill_. Author makes no profit.

It was one thing to have his team leader tell him he was just doing his job. It was another thing entirely for Walt to accept that and move on. He knew that Iceman had his best interests at heart. Iceman always had all of their best interests at heart. It was part of what made him so easy to follow. That, and the fact that he was one of the best recon Marines around. But things like that, they didn't help Walt sleep at night. Not that he had been getting much sleep to start with. So he lay awake in his Ranger Grave, bare hands curled around his cold rifle, wondering what he could have done better. 

"Walt," came a soft, familiar voice, ghosting over the sand, and he shifted groggily, shaking away the ghost of the man he had killed, sitting, peering over the top of his Grave. Gabe squatted at the foot of his Grave, hands fluttering on his rifle, those incongruously stylish glasses making him look more like a displaced college student then the type of guy who would scope out a corpse with binoculars and congratulate the killer for his skill. "Can I come in?" Gabe asked, the barest hint of a smile playing at his lips, and after a moment, Walt nodded, pulling up his legs so he sat curled in one half of his Ranger Grave. For a few minutes, they sat there silently, curled at opposite ends of the Ranger Grave, listening to the crackle of the comms and bursts of arti in the distance. 

"You did the right thing," Gabe finally said, so soft Walt barely heard him. Gabe leaned forward then, setting his rifle on the hard dirt floor of the Ranger Grave, resting his hands on Walt's knees. "Walt," he said, voice thicker than Walt had ever heard it before. "You were protecting all of us. You did the right thing." He didn't have an answer to that, but it didn't seem to matter, because Gabe leaned in further, so close Walt could feel the warmth of his breath in the chill night air, and then Gabe's lips were pressed against his, dry and chapped from exposure to the desert heat.

A jolt of electricity skittered through Walt, and he couldn't help but lean into the kiss a bit, savoring it just for the human connection, the feel of naked flesh against his. He couldn't remember the last time another person had touched him skin to skin. He supposed it might have been the Doc, back when they had time to do things like make sure the skin wasn't rotting off their feet in the MOPP suits. Gabe's hand curled coolly against his neck holding him in place, and then the other gunner's mouth was opening against his, tongue pressing hot and wet against his lips. He gave way immediately, not caring about rules and regs or that this was his friend, and a male friend at that. What mattered was the wet heat of Gabe's mouth, breathing life back into him.


End file.
